Chapter Two
Tuesday
Behind the scenes, a fashion show is barely controlled chaos. That’s the thing that had surprised Piper Hodges the most when
she started working: If beauty is, as they say, suffering, then style is anarchy. Piper isn’t a huge fan of anarchy.
The thing is, she’d grown up watching runway shows online with her mother, and the models always seemed like they were walking
in a flawless dream. Now she realizes it’s more like a rock concert sharing the stage with a ballet: wild creative energy
funneled into torturous precision.
“Let me fix this, Piper H.” A stylist adjusts the silk-lined trench coat on her shoulders. The coat feels sumptuous, and at
three grand it’s a privilege to wear it even for the minute it takes to walk the runway. But lately, her heart has been racing
and she breaks out into a cold sweat moments before it’s her turn to walk. Tonight, a feeling of absolute dread washes over
her. But she shakes it off, reminding herself that it’s the most important show of her career so far.
“Excuse me, people! Has anyone seen Piper’s other boot?
” A member of the designer’s team waves a Polaroid of Piper’s footwear, a mid-calf boot with a six-inch heel and three-inch platform.
Piper stands barefoot while one of the makeup artists touches up her eyebrows.
Her missing boot appears thanks to an assistant, and Piper quickly pulls it on.
She peeks out from behind a curtain to a dark room with only a single spotlight. It’s hard to believe that somewhere in that
darkness, her mother is watching. And Piper knows exactly how much this means to her mother—not because of anything Maggie
ever said to her, but because of a conversation with her grandmother, Birdie. Piper was in fifth grade when she mentioned,
with that unbridled certainty of a ten-year-old, that she wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up. Her grandmother looked
at her and said, “Well, then you’d better not get pregnant and drop out of college like your mother.”
Piper never mentioned the conversation to Maggie. But it forever changed Piper’s understanding of their life together. The
sacrifice she’d made to have her. She was determined to make her mother proud.
The show choreographer appears by her side. She wears a headset and carries two iPhones at all times. “Piper, you’re up: Countdown
to five, four, three, two . . .”
Piper advances from the shadows of the staging area toward the bright lights of the runway.
A strange sensation overcomes her, something like nausea but not quite. The light appears to blur and the music, so loud a
second ago, sounds like its coming from underwater. She feels herself pitch forward, but rights herself.
Headset girl snaps her fingers at her.
“And Piper . . . now . . . go!”
She steps out onto the runway. And everything goes dark.
The Betsy Toledo show is held in a cavernous room that buzzes with the energy of a crowd that is certain they are, in that very moment, the center of the universe. Maggie can hardly believe she is one of them.
The space holds the chill of the autumn evening, but she’s happy for the excuse to keep her coat on. It’s wool, chocolate
brown with oversized lapels and a belt that cinches at the waist. She’d found the treasure at a resale shop in the village
years ago, never imagining one day her own daughter would be walking on the designer’s runway.
Maggie settles into her seat, taking it all in and savoring the moment. Fashion journalists, photographers and fabulous people
buzz all around, but quiet when the lights dim. Loud music fills the room: Rihanna’s sultry ballad “Love on the Brain.” And
the first model saunters out, followed by another. They strut and sashay in crushed velvet dresses and quilted coats and cargo
pants in sumptuous material.
And then there’s Piper. Her baby!
The moment is so overwhelming, Maggie’s eyes play a trick on her. Piper, wearing towering platform boots, seems on the verge
of toppling over. An illusion, of course. But gasps in the audience tell her that this is real—this is happening.
Piper collapsed on the runway.